


Fire and Earth

by saliache



Series: Gondolindrim [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, It never ends well, Nothing Hurts, never mind, not as depressing as it could have been, quite a few things hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saliache/pseuds/saliache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a new smith in Gondolin. Maeglin is curious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Forging a Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloriousmonsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloriousmonsters/gifts).



There was a new smith in Gondolin. He had apprenticed himself to a metalworker of no particular skill in the third tier, and despite quiet rumors done nothing worthy of note. Turgon very politely ignored his presence, and therefore the rest of his court followed. "Nargothrond has fallen," was all he would say, and the Heads of the Twelve Houses of the Gondolindrim would murmur quietly among themselves. In the end Maeglin took it upon himself to visit the tiny smithy with its strange smith and its soft, everburning lamps in the dusk.

The smith’s name was Tyelperinquar. Maeglin had never heard of him before. He had never heard of Maeglin before, either, so that was just fine. 

“How did you enter the city?” Maeglin asked, curious. “Did you really come from Nargothrond? Uncle Turgon seems to think so.” 

Tyelperinquar winced and changed the subject. 

As it turned out, all good smiths needed adequate materials, whether they pretended to be unremarkable apprentices or not, and they soon fell into discussion about the strengths and properties of different alloys. Tyelperinquar had been surprised to see Gondolin recycle most of its metals, and was vocal in maintaining that such strategies would not last the city forever. Maeglin found himself agreeing. 

As the night wore on and their conversation meandered, Maeglin cautiously brought up the strange black metal his father had created. Tyelperinquar, enthused at the concept, latched onto the subject almost immediately, interspersing cautious suggestions on the metal’s properties between ramblings on similar alloys he had worked with in the past. 

It was how he discovered Tyelperinquar was seeking – and failing to procure – certain rare earths he needed for a project he had long planned. 

“I cannot be certain,” Maeglin admitted, rising to go. “But I will be… out, on an expedition, and though I may need to wander farther afield than I am used to I believe I can find some of what you seek.” 

Tyelperinquar grinned. “Could you?” he asked wistfully. “I would be eternally grateful – and I will compensate you for your time and efforts, of course!” 

Maeglin found himself smiling back. “I think you have already paid me back and more with your conversation. It is not often I can simply sit down and have an honest talk with someone, Tyelperinquar.” 

“My friends call me Tyelpë,” the other smith offered. “And I would be honored if you called me that as well.” 

“Very well, then, Tyelpë.” The epessë felt unfamiliar but not awkward on his tongue. Maeglin opened his mouth again, but before he could speak a rooster crowed nearby. Tyelpë jumped to his feet, pulling back the curtains to reveal the sky already lightening in the east. 

“And now we are called away by our duties,” he commented lightly, pulling down his strange lamps. “I must ready the forge before the day begins. Perhaps someday we may meet again and talk, Lord Maeglin.” 

Maeglin, already halfway out the door, paused. “Just Maeglin,” he said. “And I think I would like that.”


	2. Rare Earths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maeglin returns. Everything is Doomed.

Lord Maeglin was missing, and his place had been taken by a Man. No, that wasn’t fair, Tyelperinquar mused. The Man likely had nothing to do with Maeglin’s disappearance, but still. Quiet inquiries to the House of the Mole had been rebuffed brusquely, and not even Turgon could coerce their lord’s location from them.

 

So it was to his complete and utter surprise that Maeglin staggered his way onto Tyelpë’s doorstep one day, quiet and shaking and with a bag that sang to him of earth and lightning and volatile crystalline structures, and suddenly the day seemed too cheerful, abnormally bright and peaceful like a façade before a crumbling house.

 

“Maeglin!” he cried, and drew the other man in.

 

“I- I have what you wanted,” Maeglin gurgled softly. Tyelpë took in the pale, bruised skin, the tangled hair, the burning eyes so at odds with his usually impeccable composure.

 

“What happened, Maeglin? You’ve been missing for months! Are you all right?”

 

It was the wrong thing to say. Maeglin flinched, jumped, and fled. Tyelpë watched him go, and remembered where he had last seen eyes so bleak and desperate.

 

But surely no harm could come to Gondolin, which had learned from the fall of Nargothrond, which was hidden so well only Manwë’s eagles could find the city?

 

And he remembered his Doom.

 

“The Dispossessed they shall ever be,” he murmured softly, listening to the rhythms of the city, the cries of the Eagles flying high above them, the sound of his nominal master pounding away gracelessly at the forge, and wondered if he had not inadvertently doomed them all. 


End file.
